Oh, The Irony
by FaximumEverdeen
Summary: Max is an Eraser-in-training at the School. But something happens before her batch can be transformed: they escape, and somehow, Max is whisked away with them into the human world. How will she cope when she can't find her way home and is instead packed off to high school? And what happens when she's noticed, just a little more than she'd have liked? Full summary inside.
1. The Explosion

**Summary: Max is an Eraser-in-training at the School. But something happens before her batch can be transformed: they escape, and somehow, Max is whisked away with them into the human world. When an Eraser is injected with the serum, they are given a superhuman sense of direction. But since none of them have that yet, how will she cope when she can't find her way home and is instead packed off to high school? And what happens when she's noticed, just a little more than she'd have liked? Eventual Fax, we'll see how it goes. ;) **

**A/N: Hey everybuddy. So I did decide to start a new story, but not the one I mentioned in Chapter 5 of 60 Days. I still might do that, but I wanted to act on this one first. Also, Mindgames will be on hold because I'm just not getting reviews, so I don't know if people wanted to read more of that. But I will get around sometime to writing a second chapter. AND I was planning on a one-three shot Fax songfic, because I have the perfect song.  
watch?feature=endscreen&v=_cW1U-i6L8Y&NR=1  
I LOVE YOU WTK 3 :P**

**So I hope you like the idea for this story, R&R if you do, blah blah. I don't want a megalong A/N that will bore your pants off so on with the story! Oh, and the disclaimer. Yeah. _**

**Disclaimer: I'm a 65 year old balding American author who has written several internationally successful stories. Oh, I'm not? I guess that means I don't have Max rights. Bum. :(**

Oh, The Irony

I waited in the yard with the others, for our instructor. Personally, I'd rather not have an instructor who's not such a wimp. And maybe, if it's not too much to ask, one who doesn't turn up in a riot suit and ask us all politely please not to please eat him please. I mean, it's not like we're even Erasers _yet. _Maybe we would be, if we swapped instructors with Batch 104. I heard he gives them things to bite. Like my mum.  
Don't get your boxers in a bunch, I'm only joking. It's that kind of sick humour that gets you popular around here. Thankfully, I'm a natural.

Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Maximum Ride, currently human, but I'm in training for something more than that. Your average kid might say, 'mam, I want to be a spaceman when I grow up'. Well I'm not your average kid, and I never said that. I didn't even get the chance to be what I wanted, because before I could walk, I was destined to be an Eraser. And when I could finally understand the English language, my father told me about my future. He said, 'honey, when you grow up I'm going to EAT YOUR FACE!'  
Jokes. Again. Ha-ha.  
Ha.

He told me I was going to be wolf girl, and it would be the bestest thing ever. I already loved animals, so hearing that was like a Christmas present (you probably thought Erasers didn't celebrate Christmas. Well they don't, so you were right. But nobody said Erasers-in-training couldn't). And it turns out, I still love it, so joke's on anyone who thought I wouldn't.

When you hear about human-wolf hybrids, you probably think savage, solitary werewolves lurking at night waiting to run away with your arm and your leg and your dinner plate. We're anything but. We're a tight-knit family; we take our ups and downs on each other's shoulders and we have a lot of fun doing it.

But, back to the present, because I've been waiting to open it.  
Well, it's not a sick joke, but it's not bad, right?

"Hey Ari, that one looks like a fork." I pointed with my free hand at a cloud above us, because I was shielding my eyes with the other. "The uses of a fork: stabbing beef, stabbing potatoes, and stabbing eyes." That earned me a chuckle. I have to say, he's cute when he laughs. He's a year younger than I am, and I'm fifteen, so you can do the maths yourself. And if you can't, buy some new pants instead.

"And that one looks like a… plant pot." He leaned over me to point at a cloud to my left. Tee hee. Hee. "Plant pots are used for growing flowers, fruit, and hiding the evidence in." That made me laugh, and he looked down at me, still leaning; I'm not sure why. His praline chocolate-coloured hair fell over his tanned face, and suddenly I was thinking about how he looks kind of Hispanic. He certainly does look like he's kissed the sun. Or at least given it a passionate bear hug.

And before anything else could happen, our instructor walked cautiously across the grass, like he still believed we were going to serve up his bum cheeks for dinner. Oh come _on_ man, grow a _backbone!_

"Um, class, um. Before we get started," he began, approaching carefully. "I'd like to please um, ask if you um, wouldn't mind not attacking me today because my washing machine just gave birth!" he said the first part slowly, like he really didn't want to offend us, then the last part in a quick and squeaky voice and shielded his body with an arm and a leg. Jeez Louise, his excuses get more ridiculous every time. I tell you, it was 'my balloon died' last time, and it'll be 'my pregnancy test ate a meatball' next time. But if he thinks his arm and his leg are going to protect him, he's kidding himself. We'd have them off first.

"If you put clothes in it and then they came out again, I'm pretty sure that's what's supposed to happen." I told him loudly, and everyone cheered. Aw, I feel all fuzzy inside. Like a bunny. Or a velociraptor.

He coughed. After he gets over himself, he usual gets to business. Which is good for us all, because otherwise we'd be getting nowhere, and we'd have ourselves scheduled for dispatch with Batch 106 instead of 104. In case you live under a rock (this is for you Patrick), we're 105, and they breed, train and release two batches at a time. We're with 104, and being dispatched late is disgrace. We could never show our faces again.

As I snapped back to the present, I realised I was staring at our tree house. The Eraser training yard is a megasaurus field with obstacle courses and crocodiles and mace balls and lava pits and all that jazz. Ha-ha, I'm joking. We don't have lava.  
But in the midst of this, we do have a place to hang-out, chill, and pretend we're normal teenagers. It's pretty much an open space, with a tiny, creaky, wooden yellow tree house that sits on a tree stump. It's in the shade of a proper tree too, but a stubbed one, so it's only as tall as a grown man. Even so, it still feels very… homey.

"Since you're all scheduled in three weeks, you're a very advanced class, so I'm not going to show you anything flimsy like pressure points, or how to knock someone cold. It's time you learned how to kill. And believe me, there are a lot of ways to achieve that, and I'm sure you'll enjoy learning all about them." See, even if he is a wimp, he's got his basics. That's why he's an instructor. They don't just pick anyone, you know.

By the end of the day, Ari and I were laying in back on the grass, puffing and quietly discussing uses for cloud shapes again. It's become sort of routine, and it's helped us bond. Usually, when you're in a situation like this, you pick one person, make really good friends with them, and form a tag team. It's pretty much always one boy and one girl, like Ari and I. And that, kids, is where baby wolf-people come from.

"There's a chair; you could use that to sit on or throw it at a bear."

"And there's a fish, you can eat it or poison it and then make someone else eat it."

"There's a bunch of creaky floorboards to hide the body underneath."

"Creaky floorboards? You really need to work on your shapes, Maxie." I playfully swat him over the shoulder and shuffle sideways, towards him, because it's starting to get dark. The rest of Batch 105 is still out here, but we're the only ones around. Batch 104 is probably still out in their training field: it's kind of tradition that you always stay up till midnight when you're in training. When you're transformed into a full Eraser, it's optional.

The others have started up a fire in the ring of rocks we built a few months ago. That was one of the most fun nights we've had. We were set a task by the instructors after training, for up to four of us to sneak in and steal something, come back out and use it, then hide the evidence. I think we did that pretty well.  
Ari and I were the ones who snuck in. The others stayed out here, building a rock ring and gathering wood to make a fire. The plan was for the two of us to find the kitchen, steal all the marshmallows, then come back out so we could all toast and eat them. We buried the plastic packets about a foot or two below the fire; it wasn't hard with all our honed survival skills. And the instructors never found out what we took.

"Help me, then." I'm surprised the clouds are still there this late, but we have another game for when they've cleared: we name stars, which sometimes turns into a teasing game, because we pick the weirdest patterns and name them after each other. There are about 18 mangled shapes called Max, and about 34 named Ari.

"Okay, Maxie." He slides his hand to rest on top of mine, which I think is a sweet move; one which I wasn't expecting from him. He usually doesn't try any romantic advances on me, unless I spark them, which I'll admit has happened before. You'd think with such a long-worn, strong bond, we'd feel like siblings. But we don't. And I think we're really feeling the connection lately. "So, what's that one?"

"It's a… cat?"

"No, it's an umbrella, you silly goose. What's that one?"

"Goose?"

"It's hut, gosh, girl. Hike up your knickers and have some pride. What's that one?"

"Knickers?"

"You've got to be kidding me, Maxie, you used to be great at this tosh. Now, tell me what that is."

"Tosh." I dropped my head to the side, scowling at him. He watched me intently. "I tell you, tosh. I'm still the best at this, you're just distracting me, you knickers-wearing tosh-claiming silly goose." He laughed loud, and for a long time, and I liked it. I really did.

"In what way am I distracting you, Maxie?" he wiggled his eyebrows at me and rolled onto his side, which I copied, action for action. It made him grin, and from so close, I could really see how white they were. Sometimes I can get a little lost in one of his features, whether it's his eyes, which look so deep that you could drown in them, or his cheekbones, which sometimes I want to stroke, or his smile, which could seem a little sinister to another girl, but me? I just love it.

That's when he kisses me.

And that's also when the bomb detonates.

**A/N: Hola, all of my Intrapeeps out there. How did you like the first chapter of this awesome load of tosh? Exciting? Interesting? Better than watching paint dry? Or would you rather watch the grass grow? If you would DO IT like to DO IT tell me DO IT what you DO IT thought of DO IT this new DO IT story, then DO IT. **

**So, since I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the next one will be up soon, even if I don't get many reviews (that's not me telling you not to review! Please do, it really helps!). It's much more fun and exciting to write than 60 Days, and I even made myself laugh a few times. Did I make you laugh? I hope so. :)**

**Anyways, bye-bye, peoples, and see you soon!**

**-Faximum**


	2. The Location

**A/N: Herro, there. So I decided to write the next chapter now, even though I didn't get any reviews, which I have to admit I was a little disappointed about. But it was really fun writing chapter 1, so that was motivation in itself. But I do love getting reviews!  
I was hoping to update twice today, which is a lot for such a slow writer like me (I'm a descendant of Williturtle Shellspeare, which explains why I write like a TORTOISE). But I do have a lot to do today methinks, so I might not actually be able to. Good news is, if I have as much fun writing this as I did the last chapter, the next one will be up soon!**

**Disclaimer: I thought you would know that I don't have Max rights by now, but in case you didn't, I think I just told you anyway. :P Oh, and I don't own "Party, Fun, Love & Radio" either.  
user/wethekings?feature=results_main**

Okay, okay, don't get your socks in a salsa, it was only a grenade. But either way, it was a pretty huge blast, and we were right in the range – someone had tried to blow up the 20 foot, 150 volt barbed-wire fence that blocked the Eraser training field away from whatever was out there. And succeeded.

Before you could say 'holy Quinn', Ari was up and herding everyone _into _the blast zone. I had no idea what he was playing at; was he trying to get us all killed? There was obviously a hostile force out there, and possibly even a noxious gas, but then I remembered – _we_ were the most hostile force out there. I love being here; it's my home and the only place I've ever known. But then I realised something big, something I've never felt before. A desire to go. To be free. And to experience the world.  
So I strode ahead, head held high. I was going out, and I was going out proud.

Turns out, there was no gas, and there was nothing outside. But we were in a desert, and we had no idea where to turn at that point. But at the next point, we did. Left, because a group of angry teenagers was storming at us from the right – well, I guess we know that 104 escaped too.

"We're out! We're free!" one of them was yelling, ecstatic, and another was practically frothing at the mouth. As they charged, I noticed the difference that our different instructors had made – we were violent and vicious, but nothing could compare to the insanely rabid look on their faces. They looked like they were just so eager to rip, tear, kill, murder. It didn't scare me. We were one of the same. 104 wasn't going to harm us, but I didn't know that they were about to knock me out and drag me out.

Where was I? I didn't know a thing. Just that my head caned like hell, and I was on a pavement somewhere, alone. It was dark, and I couldn't see where I was – not that I would know, because I've only ever been told about the world outside. Okay, what are the facts?  
Maximum Ride. Eraser-in-training. Fifteen. Female. Lost. Alone. Confused.

Good, at least I've got something to hold onto, I think, as a large male human approaches carefully – about nineteen, twenty maybe. He kneels next to me and tries to touch my forehead, checking for fever I suppose (what? How does fever knock someone out?), but I jerk away. "Hey, darling, it's alright." He's trying to earn my trust, I suppose, but with his appearance, it doesn't exactly work.  
He has dark hair, stylish, but very greasy like he hasn't washed it in a month. And he probably hasn't, because he's gritty, a wound on his cheek hasn't been washed out and it's probably infected, and he's got thick stubble. His clothes are a little ripped and stained in places, his soles have fallen off, and I'm pretty sure there's a pistol in his pocket. So, er, so far so good?

"Are you alright? Do you know who you are?" I nod, scowling and gently rubbing my temples. "Come inside, I'm going to call an ambulance."

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" I said, and he nodded. My voice was polite but my expression begged to differ. "Can you tell me what my knuckles taste like?" I asked as I connected my fist with his jaw. He staggered back, completely shocked at a possible-amnesiac teenage girl's power and aim. But hey, that's what I was trained for, right? He soon regained composure, but it had given me time to get up and into a decent fighting stance. Velvet blood was dribbling over his chin: I guess I broke a few teeth. Well kudos for me.

"You didn't want to do that, little girl," he growled, wiping it roughly away.

"Oh really? Because I was _so sure _that you weren't me." I took a moment to mock-ponder over my latest snarky remark, just long enough for him to throw what I'm sure he believed was a good punch, but easily ducked. He also tried to kick my knee in, but ended up tickling my calf. "Tee hee, stop it!" I giggled as I waved off his thick, holey boot.

"Stupid girl. I'll pound you," Oh yeah, because that's totally what's going to happen.

"What you call stupidity, I call selective understanding." I nodded intellectually, then shot backwards into the darkness and crept under the flat's metal outdoor staircase. I smirked as he looked around, confused. "You totally have a crush on me already." I added, looking down on him from a second-floor balcony, and don't even _ask _how I got up here. No really, don't. It's classified.

He growled again, trying and failing to climb up. But before he could I was gone again, leaping like a flying squirrel to the windowsill on the other side of the alley. Then I jumped from behind, knocking him to the floor and snapped my fist into the dip between his neck and his shoulder, to knock him out. KO and I was out of there in eight seconds flat.

Firstly, I had to get out of here. This was obviously the wrong side of town to be on.  
Secondly, I had to figure out where I was. If I didn't know, I would be totally, utterly, pathetically, stuck.  
Thirdly, I had to find Ari. If I left him and he was injured, I couldn't live with myself.  
Fourthly, I had to find a place to hide out while I figured out to do fifthly.

I was out of the 'dark side' in no time, and it was quite obvious immediately that I was someone completely, undeniably… AWESOME! Shops, surfboards, palm trees, and hundreds of teenagers.  
Oh yes, baby, oh yes.

_It's all about party, fun, love & radio  
We just gonna smash these walls until they fall  
It's all about party, fun, love & radio  
Our time is running out, baby all we have is now_

I heard the song blasting out of a sundress boutique and just knew this town was _so_ the place to be. Even if my 'knight in shining armour' from the darker end turned out to be a loser in aluminium foil.

As I turned onto the next street, I noticed it… the beach. I hadn't even seen this in _pictures, _jeez, man. And it was gorgeous. So, you bet the first thought I had was to add 'bikini-&-board shopping' to my list as fifthly. From here, I could see nothing but guys and girls my age, and I felt like I was finally somewhere I was supposed to be. Don't get me wrong, I loved being with 105, they were my family. But they were the only teenagers I was allowed to be around; everyone else was much older than me, and sometimes it's hard to feel like you really belong.

BUT, that's a load of emotional mush, so let's move on.

One particular person caught my eye. He wasn't really a typical surfer, but he sure looked like he knew howteedo in this town. He had long dark hair and dark eyes, black swimming shorts, and, er, no shirt. What? He's _my _age. I'm allowed to think like that.  
Tee, hee. Tee, hee, hee.

He looked away quickly, and so did I. Keep walking, Max. I have to find out where I am, I can't fraternise with the (attractive) human males around here. It was unlikely that I'd see him again, but if I stayed in this place, I just might. And you better believe that was what I planned on doing.

The road was too long to cover, so I went back to see if I could find a street sign. Maybe that would give me a hint as to where I was. I may have never been outside the School before, but they do teach us academics like maths, English, geography. It would be slightly useless to teach us how to be savages if we were stupid, because then we might not understand that it wasn't going to do any good to turn against them. But so far, you can kind of see how that's turned out for them.

While I was walking, I took the time to observe my surroundings. Other than teenage girls in bikinis and teenage boys with surfboards and sunglasses, there were some pretty interesting people. There was a family, probably on holiday because I caught their British accents from across the road. A couple: a man in a formal suit and a woman in a… cowgirl outfit? Okay, never mind. There were three children sitting on a bench, one of them holding an ice cream, one of them with earplugs in (that were attached to nothing, by the way) and the last one holding out a big, fuzzy orange caterpillar. There was even a woman with an over-hairy Chihuahua in her feathery gold purse. Oh, and it was eating an ice lolly.  
This time, I'm not joking.

When I reached the crossroads that I had come over from, I checked the street signs until I found the one that corresponded with my road. And as I read it, my eyes widened. I had heard about this place, learned about it, and it was exactly one of the sort of places I had hoped to end up with the scientists from the School dispersed Batches 104 and 105. The sign read 'OCEAN DRIVE'.

I was in Miami, Florida.

**A/N: So did everyone enjoy reading the new chapter of 'Oh, The Irony'? I spent a lot of time and effort on this, but it always feels like that, because it takes up so much of my after-school time to write new chapters. But hey, at least I got it done!  
I have to ask, did you expect Max to end up in Miami? I sure didn't, I only made that up today. Ha-ha. But aren't you pleased that she did? And did you enjoy the little Fang reference? ;)  
In some other people's stories, they have questions on each chapter to make it more interesting, get more reviews and to give reviewers something more to look forward to. So, this chapter's question is: Have you ever been to America? And if you live there, what's it like in your state? I'll post my answer in the next chapter, so you'll just have to wait and see!  
Adios, buddios, and hasta pronto!**

**-Faximum**


	3. The Taxi

**A/N: Hiiii C¦ Sorry for not updating over the weekend, I had too much homework (and I only went to school on Thursday and Friday!), a movie at my friend's house (Hunger Games, for the second time), and I just felt tired and mopey most of the time. Buut I know I need to update so I'm going to write the next chapter now. Um, as you can tell.  
Don't worry; I will write another for 60 Days sometime, I'm not neglecting it.**

**Disclaimer: If JP gave me MR rights, I would die. So, as you can see, he hasn't. ¬_¬ And I don't own any of the shops I mentioned in this chapter (if they exist), I just made them up. Also, I made up Max's phone number and email address, so don't try to contact her. LOL.**

I stared at the sand on the beach from my hotel balcony, trying to identify each different grain with my superhuman vision. It's working, I think. I can see individual colours and shapes, but not in focus. I'm going to need to practice on that, because I heard that the human world is a raw thing, and you need to hold on tight. So I'll need to hold on even tighter, seeing as I've only been in the human world for a couple of days.

Since I realised that I was in Miami, I've been looking up different places to get a room (I already chose one, as you can see. And if you can't, then you should've gone to Specsavers), an education and a job. I've already narrowed it to two nearby high schools, and there's about a bajillion shops around here, so I'm going to see if I can get a job in one without having any actual record of my entire life. Because I know at least they'll want to see if I've mugged anyone before.  
I have. And the mug hit him smack dab on the nose!

Sighing, I turned around and headed back into the hotel room. It's a cheap one, but it's not really that bad. It has a double bed, an en-suite bathroom, and some decent furniture. It even has one of those ancient box TVs, which I was amazed by, the way modern teens might be amazed if David Beckham came into their favourite coffee shop and asked for a frappuccino. I may have lived around white coats all my life, but they only have TVs in the control rooms, for security purposes. Believe it or not, evil scientists _don't _watch SpongeBob. I know, it's an outrage, right?

I checked the digital plug-in clock on the wooden (looks more like cardboard to me, but whatever floats your pickle) nightstand. 10:39. Alright, that's a decent time to start looking for a place to get a job, right? I threw my phone in my already half junk-filled denim messenger bag and headed out.

As soon as I stepped out of the lobby I was swept away by a crowd of teenagers in beach-wear, and to my amusement one of them was carrying a bright green inflatable crocodile under his arm. And also, to my um, not-amusement (?), I noticed that it was the dark-haired guy on the beach. Okay, time to turn on the warp drive. Things getting awkward isn't something I'm used to.

Fishing in my bag, I found the list of shops that I wanted to try. As I read through it, I noticed a pattern: they were all places where you could get food or drink. So, first up, Milk-a-moo.

The inside was a nice, child-oriented kind of places with huge milkshake churners straight in view and their selection of 50 toppings on display in clear plastic bowls. All in all, it didn't strike me, but the things people do for money are shocking. It could be so much worse.

I walked up to the counter and ordered a regular with Turkish delight and dark chocolate chips, then started talking with the guy about getting a job here. "So, I saw the job sign on the front door, and I was looking for one. Would you be able to help me?" He smiled and nodded hopefully (did I mention he was my age? And cute?). Tee-hee.

"You're sixteen, right?"

"Fifteen."

"Oh," the smile dropped away from his face. "You have to be at least sixteen to work at this place, and there are already two others running for the job. But I thought, if you _had _been sixteen, maybe I could've hooked you up somehow. Looks like we won't be working together anytime soon." I left soon after that with my milkshake and a frown. Awww.

The next place I visited was Meatball Madness, but there was an age restriction of 18 years, because of all the grills and potentially dangerous equipment in the back. Next on the list was Kenny's Korndogs, but the manager was a complete weirdo who was twice my age and I think he was hitting on me, so that was quickly ticked off. Afterwards I went into ASPCS (American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Stomachs) which was pretty much a snack bar, but I was turned down there too, and after a couple more turn-offs, the last place on my list was Chico's Churros. Let's just hope, then.

As I walked into the place, my first impression is that it's definitely somewhere I could work: fun, open, and full of hungry people just like me. I sat down on one of the circular, red glass tables and called over a waitress. First thing I was going to do was order a churro, and then get talking to her about an occupation. I know there is one, because I checked around the shops local to see which places have openings. This definitely does, to my delight.

"Hi there, what can I get you? A churro, a churro, or a churro?" she giggled, her tanned face framed by lush dark brown waves. I grinned, and ordered a sugar churro with a melted chocolate dip. Let me just say now, yay. You heard it here first folks.

"Er?" she looked at me expectantly, her eyes on me and her hand still writing my order on the notebook. :o "Well, I was wondering, since there's a job opening, d'you think I could apply for it?"

"Oh, totally, you look like you'd make a great waitress." She glanced around like she was making sure no one was watching, and then leaned into my ear. "Have you ever seen many girls come into this place? Or any male waiters?" I looked around, and then realised there were only a few girls eating in there and only one male waiter. All the waitresses were really pretty, and *cough* notwearingmuch *cough*.

"Ahhh. I get it." I nodded, and she laughed, then put on a serious face.

"But they only share that with employees, so now you _have _to get a job here, or I'm afraid I'll have to take you downtown, ma'am." Then she was laughing again, and I was too. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. Wait here." She rushed through the back door, and only then did I notice she was wearing roller skates – so were all the other waitresses. I just hoped I wouldn't fall over too much. The girl came back almost ten minutes later with a piece of paper and a white plate with a churro on it.

"Heya! So here's the form you're gonna have to fill out, you can do that here if you want, and here's that churro you ordered. Have fun." She told me, then rolled off to help some more customers, who by the way were all male. I dished a pen out of my bag and started to fill in the form while dipping my churro in chocolate. It was really good, in case you were wondering.

_**Full name: **_Maximum Ride_**  
Age: **_15_**  
References: **_15526975920_**  
Available hours: **_3pm – 8pm  
_**Living Distance: **_15 minutes_**  
Criminal history: **_None_**  
Contact Info: **_ _**  
Other Info: **_Doesn't know how to use roller skates.

Once I'd mopped up the last of the sauce with the end of my churro, I called for the waitress who I'd talked to earlier, and she took my form with that contagiously peppy smile of hers. "So, Maximum, huh?" she asked, skimming over it.

"Max."

"Right, Max. I like that." She shook my hand, and then laughed, still reading my form. "Doesn't know how to use roller skates?" she shook her head, folding it in half. "It'll make him laugh, anyway. So, I think you're going to get the job, from just reading your form. Ooh, I'm Ella, by the way."

"Ella. I'll remember that." I said, getting up. "I'd better go now, then. See you soon, Ella," she nodded hopefully as I left the store and headed back to the hotel, feeling contented. The sun was going down slowly as I walked in a steady rhythm. All I had to do next was apply to a high school, then make up a background story for myself in case anyone asked. I couldn't exactly tell them I had been raised in a lab full of crazies and was next in line to become part of the next generation of wolf-people.

But as I was crossing the road to get to the hotel, the thing I regret most about that night was not turning around, because I definitely didn't see that car coming.

**A/N: Ooh! Cliffy! Yay!  
I actually started this chapter yesterday, but my brain cogs needed a bit of oiling, so I waited until today to finish it off. I don't usually write many coat-ha – I mean, cliff-hangers, so I'm really pleased with that. And now, time for the question of the chapter!**

**If you got a job at a restaurant, which restaurant would it be?**

**My answer to Chapter 2's question: Yep; my family and I went to Florida, but Orlando, not Miami. It was really great, but for someone who's used to British weather, it was **_**sooo **_**hot!  
Jazzeegirl: I live in Kent, England. It's really nice here, but really cold too!**

**-Faximum**


	4. The Pants

**A/N: Herro again, readers :) I might not update as much lately, and I don't know when it will be back to normal, but I have a valid reason (which I would rather not put on the internet). So anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter, and on with the show!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Max Ride or any of the characters (but I might make a few of my own? I hope that doesn't annoy anyone; it does usually annoy me, especially when they take more focus than Max/original characters. Let me tell you a funny story. I've only ever liked a few that people have made up before, but then I noticed I was rambling, so I ended the author's note! Ha-ha!)**

**Max's POV**

Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, _crap.  
_In other words, a double crapuccino with extra crap. And then some.

My head was throbbing like a thing that throbs a lot, and my vision was fuzzy; I could hardly see anything. Someone was shouting at me, shaking my shoulders, and slapping me with a wet lion. "HICCUP! BONE-FRY! PEAS BONE-FRY!" What the hiccup is peas bone-fry?

A woman shrieked and started screaming about Pauline's 99 bun. Well I guess if it's big enough and comes with honey dip, that's a good deal. But why would you need to tell us all about it when that poor girl just got hit by a Taxi? Oh wait, that was me!

"WAKE UP! DON'T DIE! PLEASE DON'T DIE!"

"I'm calling 991!"

Oh, so they're not really making dinner? Aw. I'm hungry.

"But MA-AM I don't want to go today." I weakly smacked the person who wouldn't stop prodding me in the face. Ohh, they were crying. Right, why were they crying? Oh, I got hit by a Taxi. Hey, didn't I say that before?

"SHE'S ALIVE! SHE'S ALIVE!" they yelled in what I recognised to be an attractively husky male American accent. Well of course I'm alive, douche, it's not like I got hit by a Taxi or anything. Oh, wait, I did! Hey, I think I said that before, didn't I? Does he drive a Taxi then? Wait, Taxis have their own drivers, so all you have to do is get in and pay him two Galleons and then he'll drive you to Hogwarts. WAIT…

I could see properly now. The guy who hit me had long raven black hair and he was crying a rainbow – I mean, river. Right? No, I'm sure it's rainbow. So anyway – his eyes were really deep and dark, so deep I could like, drown in them or like, whatever. He had a tanned, defined face. I guess you could say he wasn't technically the typical surfer, but he did definitely look like he knew howteedoo in this town. Wait a minute; I _have _said that before, when I first saw this guy on the beach. That was when I got here. And then I saw him, when I left my hotel to get a job. Now he was here, almost killing me with his Taxi. I have a feeling he's going to show up later, too. Ugh.

"You could at least buy me dinner first." I waved him off, sitting up and rubbing my forehead. "I mean, when did the syrup come into this?" Wait, there was no syrup. I need serious help right now.

- - - - - - - - - Time Skip (Next Day) - - - - - - - - -

That hotel bed was comfier than I remembered. Maybe that's because it's wasn't my hotel bed; I was in a plush double bed and there was some dude sitting across from me, watching me sleep in… ohmygod iminmypants! Why the heck was I in my underwear? And where was I? Sitting up sharply, I eyed the room suspiciously. Was there something that happened last night between us that I should remember?

"Thank God, you woke up." He sighed deeply, running a hand through his long black hair. "I thought for a moment you were in a coma or something." My brows knitted together, watching him carefully.

"Who are you and what did you do to my pants?" I was surprised that he was surprised. If he had talked to me before, he should have definitely known that's the sort of thing I would ask first if I got kidnapped.

"My name is Fang, I washed your pants and…" he answered my questions first, and then he muttered something under his breath, staring wide-eyed, with his mouth open a little. He breathed out so hard I could almost _see _it, even in this heat. He quickly shut his mouth, sitting back and trying to act like he never said anything. But I was pretty sure I heard that, and if I heard it right, I needed to get out of his bedroom and fast because let me just repeat, _I'm in his bed, in my underwear, and he just told me I'm gorgeous._

"I want my pants! Pants!" I yelled, jumping off the covers only to fall on the carpet with a thump because my feet were tangled in his bed sheets. I frantically kicked out of them and raced to the door, rattling the doorknob until it swung open and ran down the stairs, through another open doorway and right into the lounge. Which was by the way FILLED with people. And I didn't have any pants on.

They turned to me at exactly the same time with shocked expressions. Most of the furniture was white, and they were all holding fancy Martini-style glasses with purple liquid in them. It was obviously a formal do, because the women were in dresses, the men in suits (and don't forget here that there was also a load of teenagers my age and up, mostly male. And I _still _didn't have any pants on.)

"Does anyone know where he put my pants? Anyone? No one?" I shrugged and gave up, ran back out of the room and started searching the rooms for my beloved pants. My cheeks were burning; I've never been half-naked in front of so many regular people before. Of course I've been naked before, but not _half-_naked. That's a whole new experience. Ha-ha.

(In case you're worried, I'm talking about white coats. I didn't exactly have a choice. But now I've experienced it, I'd marry privacy if that was legal in Florida.)

"Pants pants pants pants," I muttered repeatedly under my breath, rummaging through some guy's under-pantaloons. Then something hit the back of my head, and I turned to see my very own pants lying on the floor. You jelly. "My PANTS!"

Pulling them on quickly, I found my shirt, socks and shoes underneath and put them on too. "Do you have my bag too, fairy pant-mother?" I asked whilst wrestling with my left sock. I've always thought socks were trickier than they're supposed to be. I think that's me though, because some people can just pull them on easily, and I have to spend half an hour trying to weld them with my feet.

My bag then came at me and I caught it in mid-air as I pushed off the bed, slung it over my shoulder and marched out of the front door. Once I was off the porch, I turned my head back to look at my fairy pant-mother, who actually happened to be Fang, and left with a "Thanks for the pants."

**Fang's POV**

Oh, sweet Jebus, did that really happen?

I was just getting a cab home, and half the drive was as fine as it could be, for loud and humid Miami. Until the cab driver reached down to open the foot compartment on the other side of the car, took his eyes off the road for just a second, and smacked straight into a girl.

Oh, sweet Jebus. Again.

After a while, once she had started to rouse, I lifted her bridal-style into the cab and went straight home. I put her in my bed, didn't talk to anyone, and stayed up all night watching her sleep. (By the way, it's kind of hard to creep over a girl you just hit with a car, if that's what you were thinking of.)

(WARNING: Possible innuendo ahead)

Her shirt had been stained with blood from her shoulder and her jeans were grazed in, so I decided to wash them for her. She was _asleep, _so she couldn't have done it herself; she needed my help (I warned you). She looked like the kind of person who was like a minefield; you can get around if you know the way but if you step a foot out of line you'll get blown up (you have to admit, that one was pretty funny. No? Well, don't sue me. I _did _warn you.)

I spent the rest of the night skipping between the bedroom and the kitchen and occasionally the bathroom, until finally the sun came out and she began to stir. "Thank God, you woke up," I ran a hand through my hair, stressed beyond belief. "I thought for a moment you were in a coma or something." She scowled at me, sitting up. It was only then when I realised how pretty she was. She had straight blonde hair with natural brown touches, messy from sleep. Her nose was narrow, her skin sun-kissed, and her eyelashes were something you could never achieve with mascara, and hardly ever get naturally. Don't even bring me to her eyes – they were wide enough to be cute but not vulnerable, and so deep and beautifully brown that if I could fall in them, I'd be swimming in chocolate. They got darker as you got to the edge of the iris, and they had emerald streaks reaching out from devastatingly jet pupils.

She was amazing, and apparently, my brain wanted to tell her that.

"I'm Fang, I washed your pants and damn you're gorgeous," but she heard it. Double crapuccino.

She hesitated for an excruciatingly long moment, and then suddenly fell off the bed yelling "I want my pants! Pants!" Lashing out with her feet, she stumbled across the room and almost yanked my knob clean off (I know it's a bit late, but there's some more for you) to escape.

Well, that's a surprise. Usually, girls don't _want_ to escape my bed.  
Ha-ha.

For at least ten minutes, I could still hear her looking for her pants downstairs, but she wasn't going to find them down there. I decided to give her a hand and gathered her stuff off my floor, headed steadily down the staircase and found her in one of the guest bedrooms, currently occupied by one of my male cousins. I threw her clothes at her, which she snapped up before asking, "Do you have my bag too, fairy pant-mother?" I chuckled, handing it over.

Plonking it over her arm, she made a swift exit and walked away with a simple "Thanks for the pants.", and left me hopelessly wondering who the heck she was.

Oh, sweet Jebus. I think it did happen.

**A/N: Sooo how did you like Fang's POV? And did all the frantic pants stuff annoy you? Sorry if it did. :( I started this chapter two days ago, but I didn't really have the frame of mind, and I was forced to finish my maths homework last morning (which takes ages because I really suck at it), and I only just finished editing, so it's later than it should've been. I was considering writing another chapter of 60 Days and Mindgames and publishing them all together, but I think I'm going to stick to separate publishing for now. And also, sorry if you find any tense mistakes. I'm so used to writing in present, it gets a little difficult to constantly write in past!**

**My answer to last chapter's question: I would work at Blendini's, and hope I get a discount.**

**This chapter's question: What's the closest you've ever come to a real car crash?**

**-Faximum**


	5. The School

**A/N: I am soooo sorry about how long this took.**

**Disclaimer: Do I look like a balding sixty-something-year-old American man to you? Yes? Well, that was a bit rude.**

**Max's POV**

I sighed and turned to look behind me. I frequently did this; it was an old habit I'd gotten into as the Whitecoats were teaching us that paranoia was the key to survival. However, there was clearly nothing behind me but a wall, a pile of sky blue pillows and my room key sitting on the nightstand.

I was sitting cross-legged on the end of the crinkly bed in my hotel room, resting my chin in my hand and thinking over my situation again. I applied for a job, so I'd be able to make some money without having to resort to my pick-pocketing skills. What was next… ah! I needed to find some high schools. This required a computer that I would have to go out and find, and I would've preferred not to as I was only in a pair of black short-shorts and one of those baggy white V-neck T-shirts that are about 2.6% invisible so you can just make out the colour of my skin but you can't actually see through it. Get what I mean? No? Well, search for it on that site called Giggle or something. I've heard they know everything.

Luckily for me, I didn't have to change because the hotel had a library with computers in it on the ground level, so I pulled on some furry white slipper boots (I did some shopping – shudder) and headed out. After making sure my door was shut, I pressed the lift button and was pleasantly surprised when I only had to wait 5.4 seconds for it to open. There was no one in it, so I stepped right in, pressed the 'close doors' button and stood there for a minute trying to figure out which button I should push next. I finally decided on the one that said 'G', because nothing bad can happen with the letter 'G' involved. Gravy, granola, guacamole, guinea pigs, you name it - as long as it doesn't stand for gouge because that could be dangerous.

For about 10.2 seconds (I didn't count, my brain is just wired to be able to instantly tell time and direction etc.), my stomach felt like it was being thrown upwards before the lift came to an abrupt halt, the doors clanked open and there was a rather chilling and most definitely British female voice telling me that I'd reached the ground floor. Ohhh, so that's what 'G' stands for: gnome! JK, JK (Rowling), it stands for Ground floor.

I carefully navigated – or clumsily found my way to out of pure luck – myself to the library of the hotel and typed my room number into a computer. That was their login system: you had to put in your room number so that they knew which searches and website visits had come from whom, in case you were planning a bank robbery or something. Since I wasn't doing anything harmful or suspicious, I was only going to look at some high school websites; I decided it would be fine to play by the system and type in my OWN number (just FYI, if I had been planning a bank robbery, I would have put in a number from a completely floor, so that I wouldn't become a suspect, just a witness).

I quickly typed in 'Miami high schools' into this Goggles website or whatever it was called and clicked through some, brushing off quite a few of them because they were too far away or for rich snobs or similar reasons. I took a pen out of the stationery pot on the table and began to sense a presence behind me. _Quick, what would a normal girl do?_ Hmm… first of all, they wouldn't have been able to sense someone's presence, so I decided to ignore it until whoever it was spoke up.

Clicking the back button, I scrolled through the first page, writing down the names of the schools I liked best on the back of my left hand. Then, just as I was about to go back and compare them to see which would be best, the person behind me finally decided to stop being so nosy. "Do you go there?" they asked as I clicked on the first one, which was called Miami Evil School (anyone might have been repelled by this name, but to me it sounded interesting), in a deep but friendly voice. I decided that the most appropriate response would be to let out a squeal of 'surprise' and drop my pen on the floor in 'shock', so that's what I did.

I let out what I dubbed to be a convincingly exasperated sigh as I went to pick up the pen, making them chuckle, then swivelled around in my spinney office chair. The person was a teenage guy, maybe a year or two older than me and _very_ good-looking [see: male model]. Why does Miami have so many cute guys? Ahh, reminds me of home. The Erasers were all engineered to be very aesthetically attractive, and a while ago (before they discovered that Erasers were indeed able to breed amongst themselves) they only made Eraser guys, so the majority of us are male. But anyway, I digress.

He had a typical beach-boy tan, and I noticed that two beads of either sweat or water were running down his face (he looked like he just came off the beach so it could be either), and were slowly getting smaller as if he was so hot that it was evaporating straight off his face – which was, by the way, totally possible. His golden blonde hair was styled forwards and swept off to the left in a wavy fringe over his forehead. It glistened with water and looked scruffy, but in a cute way rather than a hobo way. He was wearing a pair of black cargo shorts, black flip-flops and a white V-neck which was drenched in water so that it was slightly see-through and clung to his abs, of which I could clearly count six. Then, oh, his _eyes_. They were a sparkling Caribbean ocean blue, brimming with emotion and so deep that I could metaphorically drown in them (I seem to be thinking this a lot lately).

"No, actually, I'm looking to enrol." I replied casually, clicking the pen closed and leaning back against the table. "Is it a good school?" He examined me thoughtfully for a moment.

"Well, it's not exactly peachy. I mean, it is a high school after all. But it does have one thing going for it." He replied in a tone just as off-handed as mine.

I cocked an eyebrow, half curious, half sceptic. "And what's that?"

"It's my school." he grinned, showing off his pearly whites with a dazzling 1000-watt smile that could make any girl melt at his feet. I rolled my chocolate orbs (eyes, genius) but felt slightly relieved that I'd already met someone from my potential school that I could get information out of, for example why the Graham cracker was it called Miami _Evil_? "In case you were wondering, it's called Miami Evil because the guy who founded it was called Jebediah Evil."

I made a sound of realisation, which earned me a lip-twitch from the guy. "My name's Max." I held out my hand for him to shake, which apparently was what normal people did, but I didn't get it. What was the purpose of shaking someone's hand? It's not a can of spray paint, people. It doesn't have a 'shake well before using' label.

He took it and shook it (I'm a poet!), "I'm Dylan," he replied. That's a fitting name. Very… jock-y.

"So, think I should apply?" I asked, spinning the chair back around and looking at the homepage as his cue to come stand next to me. He nodded immediately.

"Totally. You live in this hotel, right?" I nodded, wondering where this was going, "So do I, and it's always good when your friends live really close. Plus, I don't have many friends there anyway." I turned to him, gaping like an unattractive fish, possibly a trout (they're ugly, right?), before snapping my mouth shut and fixing a no-nonsense look on my face.

"You're a really bad liar, you know. You have a whole herd of sheep following you around and probably a ton of girls jumping at you too, right?" I added with a raised eyebrow.

He chuckled and shook his head with a politely incredulous look on his face. "It's called a_ flock_ of sheep. But seriously, I don't have any friends, and there are no girls 'jumping at me'. Where did you get that from?" he plops himself unceremoniously down on the spinney chair next to mine and rests his head on his fist, looking very pleased with himself.

"Well, you're charismatic enough to come and talk to me. If I was you, I would've stayed as far away as possible. I am _not _a people person." I informed him, turning back to the screen and scrolling through the information page. He grinned at me again, sending waves of heat onto the side of my face. "By the way, do you know where the sign-up sheet or whatever it's called is?"

Dylan leaned forward, clicked on the 'Enrolment' link at the top of the page and for the next half hour he helped me fill out my information (which I had to think of on the spot, since he had no idea about my current predicament). By the time we were done, we knew quite a lot about each other, and I had made my first school friend. Along with Ella, my work friend, I was all set in terms of people to talk to. I didn't have to make an effort to communicate with people, which was brilliant for me.

I am _not _a people person.

* * *

As I waited for the lift to clunk open, I inspected the button panel. The floors went from 'B', being Basement, to 'P', being the Penthouse. I decided to check out the Basement to see what was there when I was next free. I could see my distorted reflection in the panel, and was glad to see that I still looked completely unremarkable and unnoticeable. The same light brown/blondish hair, tanned skin and dark brown eyes as I'd always had glinted back at me through the grimy gold-coloured metal. The doors creaked open and I skipped (yeah, you heard me) up the hallway in my bouncy slipper boots, taking in the green floral wallpaper, peeling at the corners, as I went by. I stopped outside Room 105. That's when I realised.

I'd forgotten my room key on the nightstand. _Crap! How am I supposed to get in now?_ Well, I guess I could've asked a member of staff, but they were all really creepy, so that idea was quickly added to the pile of all the useless ideas I had.

I turned and slid my back down the door until I was sitting on the varnished wooden floor. Ah, well. At least this would give me time to rethink my priorities.

At first, my list of priorities had been pretty simple, as they were all linked to survival in some way. Now, they were linked to creating a normal – if temporary – life for myself. I was going to settle down in a way that was not too permanent, so I would be able to quickly sever ties if necessary, and then get down to finding Ari.

Find a place to stay. Check.

Find a job. Check.

Apply for an education. Check.

Make friends. Check.

Make sure no one finds out about my past. Check so far.

Create a backstory. Not check.

Find Ari. Also not check.

So, I'd already done most of the stuff on my list, but I wasn't sure what I was going to do after I found Ari. Would we enrol him at Miami Evil, get him a job, live happily ever after? Or would we set out to find the other members of Batch 105, then with the help of our fellow Erasers-in-training, find our way back to the School?

Well, whatever we were going to do, I would have to complete steps 6 and 7, and uphold step 5. That, my friends, was easier said than done. Especially when I hadn't even figured out how to get back into my room.

**A/N: There are a lot of twists I'm planning for this story, and there are also a few hints in this chapter. Follow, favourite, and review to give me suggestions/encouragement/feedback!**

**FYI: Max knows that she has timing and directions built into her brain, but she's unaware that she's doing it when she's using exact numbers (2.6, 5.4, and 10.2). This is just another thing to remind you of her Eraser-ness, because a normal person would've just said 2, 5 and 10 without the decimal numbers, and this feature might come into play later on in the story. ;)**

**Q&A: Have you ever been locked out of a hotel room? I haven't, but I hope it happens to me sometime when I'm older just so I can sit and laugh about it afterwards. :P**


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